Bulletproof
by R. Lucas Spitfire
Summary: Not meant as a replacement to the Master Joss Whedon's creation, Bulletproof was designed to explore the possiblity of an impossibility, not meant to exist by the Powers That Be, but too influential to kill. Enter Daniel Easton, the first Male Slayer.


Buffy Summers didn't know what ordinary was. Nartually, her less-than-common given name was one of the first things to come to mind when defining "strange." So did her checkered past.

Her past was the main reason Buffy could not be nominated for the "Most Ordinary Young Women's Beauty Pageant." It wasn't that she didn't have the looks - flowing golden tresses, compassionate brown eyes, and a figure to make Aphrodite weep - nor the brains or grace. Simply put, from the moment Ms. Summers entered high school, her life had changed to a degree far beyond typical high school musicals, football games, cliquish girls and the classic Geek vs. Jock wars. Finding out that she was the veil standing in front of the darkness had obliterated any semblance of normalcy.

Still, between dying twice, staking vampires (and dating two), dealing with werewolves and homework, Buffy had managed to find a sort of normalcy in her life. Hellmouth High had now been rebuilt, with the 'bidet of evil' now positioned directly beneath the principal's office. Buffy had been looking for a reason to monitor the school and its leadership when she unexpectedly found herself offered the position of a guidance counselor by new principal Robin Wood. It was more than the perfect cover.

Yes, a sense of normalcy had settled into the mind and heart of Buffy Summers. She should have known it wouldn't last. Part of her _did_ know it wouldn't last. And the part of her that knew was in no way surprised with the message of a new threat emerging from her visions one night: "From beneath you, it devours."

Since then, her 'normalcy' had been shattered. Willow had returned from England and her "how not to be evil" camp, leading to a magical game of Invisi-Tag. The game ended in an ironic twist of fate when Willow herself was very nearly flayed alive. Two months and several unfortunate adventures later, Buffy's mentor Rupert Giles turned up on her doorstep with three girls in tow. But not just any girls; Potential Slayers. Her home had been quickly turned into a sorority/safe haven. Space to stretch out while asleep was becoming rarer and rarer; the weekly gorcery bill had already tripled with no end in sight, and Buffy shuddered at the thought of the coming water bill. The house was nearing capacity, but the flow Potentials seeking sanctuary didn't appear to be slowing down.

_It just couldn't have been the gigantic burrowing worm creature/psycho stalker ex-boyfriend, could it?_

And on top of all of that, Buffy not only had to protect the Potentials, but she had to teach them to protect themselves. Short bursts of mirthless laughter had escaped her as the pondered the irony that she was training her own replacement for a position she could only vacate in death.

So maybe she hadn't laughed. Maybe she had wanted to cry instead at her shorter-than-normal life expectancy being so rudely tossed up into her face. She was a girl, after all, and damn it, she had the right to cry. The right to cry tears of sadness, of frustration, of anger. _Normal_ girl tears.

But that would have presented a problem. _They _were ordinary girls, yanked out of ordinary lives in ordinary towns, and thrust into the extraordinary. She was not. She was Buffy Summers, Slayer of the Vampyr, killer of the unkillable, and arguably the most hardcore bitch to walk the face of the planet (unless one were to count Faith, of course). The things that would break normal girls barely registered on Buffy's radar. Hell, she had died - _twice_ - and still the iron clutches of the Grim Reaper could not hold her.

Even if none of that counted, what did matter was that Buffy was now a teacher. She was a general. Weakness was _not_ an option. Even if she was unsure that they could win the coming war, she couldn't show it. She had to try.. She had to fight.

It was her job to fight.

On the other side of the country, Julia Easton sat upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat.

**Author's Notes: **Yes, I am aware that you have seen this particular story before. All I can say is I was very unhappy with the first version, so I decided I would start over, from the beginning. As to why I haven't updated in so long? My father died. Its not an excuse, but the mess with settling his estate kept me from this. And then I got a job. Anyway, do feel free to let me know what you think. I know its hard, just pressing that button, but it gets easier with time. Before you know it, reviewing will be like second nature to you. Also, if there are any betas in the audience, I would appreciate it if you'd consider taking this project on. Questions? Comments? Snide remarks? Press review.


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